She has spent her life carving out a career as a writer of intellect in a world still dominated by men. Here, Siri Hustvedt talks about magic tricks, why you can’t trust an author – and seeing herself as ‘ridiculous’
Siri Hustvedt is laughing. “I feel so much urgency,” she says, her long legs folded beneath her on an armchair. We are on the ground floor of the Brooklyn brownstone she shares with her husband, Paul Auster. The room is decorated with paintings of typewriters. There is a vase of fresh flowers. Hustvedt, who has just published her seventh novel, Memories of the Future, is figuring out which of her many projects to tackle next. “I want to write another novel, but I also want to write this philosophical book, and I have many, many essays now that I should put together in another collection.” A day earlier she’d given a eulogy for an old friend, the American magician Ricky Jay. “I was talking to two people I know, both at least as old as I am, and I was asking what they were doing, and they were both saying, ‘Well, we’re not doing that much at the moment,’ and I just said, ‘You know, I’m working for my life.’” She drops her voice to a whisper: “I’m a little nuts, I am working like a maniac to get it in before I die.”
Her days start early, at 5.30am with some meditation; she is at her desk by 7am. “Morning brain is the best brain,” she says cheerfully. “I can feel my sharpness declining after six or seven hours.” Hustvedt spends the afternoons reading, mostly academic papers that form the basis of her many lectures on neurology and psychology. She and Auster have been married for 38 years, and still read aloud to each other. They are great lovers of fairytales, as is their 31-year-old daughter, Sophie, a singer of slinky, soulful pop songs. There are other writer couples, of course, but few that have stayed together so long.
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